Makoons

by Louise Erdrich

  Well, there was one thing a man might need.

  “A new wife,” he said softly.

  Passing behind him, Yellow Kettle heard.

  “A new wife,” she scoffed. “You’ll never get one! You’re trouble!”

  Quill looked after his mother as she walked away and thought that if she could find a husband in her life, then he could surely find a wife. For if anyone was trouble, it was Yellow Kettle. He had inherited her will, her energy, but, fortunately, not her anger. He smiled indulgently. After all, her scolding was only noise, and as she passed she had tossed his pair of mended pants at his head.

  Over the next few days, the camp was noisy with new people arriving. To get away, Makoons and Chickadee rode their horses down to the river where it meandered into an oxbow. They tied up their horses and let them graze while they caught fish—golden eyes and fat, slow catfish. A snapping turtle surfaced and watched them with a hooded gaze until Chickadee threw a rock at it.

  “Brother,” said Makoons, “don’t offend that old grandfather. You could ruin our luck.”

  “He’s robbing our lines, more like it.” Chickadee hoisted a line with half a fish snapped neatly off.

  “After your insult,” said Makoons, “you’ll be lucky to get half a fish.”

  Makoons was wrong, however. The old grandfather must have thought them beneath his notice. They caught a string of fish and rode back to their mother. She admired the size of the fish. They ate some of her duck stew and then hopped back on the horses to roam the low hills outside of Pembina that afternoon, checking rabbit snares. They climbed the highest hill they could find, which wasn’t really very high, but from that place they could see west, far out onto the plains, a world of waving grass.

  As they sat on their horses in the sweeping wind, they could see forever. From one side of the world a storm moved away with dark nets of rain on the horizon. From the other side of the world a set of buoyant clouds bounced along in hot sunshine. Banks of geese and dark flocks of duck rose and fell against these clouds. Other birds wheeled and roamed the air. The air was loud with gurgling larks and the trills of blackbirds. Violently blue buntings popped up here and there in the grass. Tiny flashes of finch and hummingbird, clouds of hunting dragonflies, the shadows of cranes, eagles, hawks—it was a twitching, fluttering, darting vision of birds and grass.

  “Nashke,” said Chickadee slowly, raising his chin, squinting at the sunny side of the world. “What is that?”

  The emphatic line of the horizon wavered and moved, but it was not a heat mirage. There was no shimmering quality. It was something else. They breathed in, slowly, hoping it was what they thought it might be. They waited, blinking, shadowing their faces, willing themselves not to say it until they made sure. Finally, they looked at each other, nodded, and grinned.

  “Mashkode-bizhikiwag,” they said at the same time.

  With a swift motion they turned and rode, hard and fast as they could, back to camp.

  FOUR

  BUFFALO!

  The twins rode into camp like a double tornado. Buffalo! Their small family cabin was surrounded by skin tents, bark huts, family and friends who had returned to Pembina during the summer. Most of them were relatives and followers of Chief Little Shell. The family already knew and got along with all of them except a hunter nicknamed Gichi Noodin, Big Wind. He was conceited, always puffing out his chest and bragging of his exploits to anyone who would listen. From each small dwelling a person or two spilled out yelling in excitement. Gichi Noodin jumped onto a small rock, the better to be seen. He wore a tight skin undershirt so that his muscles were visible for easy admiration. He threw back his head, let the wind whip his gleaming, streaming hair, and flexed his muscles, for he was truly big and strong. He was hoping women watched him, and he was known to be very jealous of the leader, Little Shell. Little Shell ignored him and prepared his hunting horse and rifle. With a sideways glance at the chief’s preparations, Gichi Noodin jumped off his rock and scrambled to throw his gear together. He wanted to be the first scout on the scene.

  At the edge of the trampled grass, Uncle Quill napped underneath his oxcart with his hat flopped over his face. Farther on, staked in the tall grasses, buffalo ponies nickered and pricked up their ears. Wing, taller and more powerful than the others, yanked at her stake so hard she pulled it loose. Excitedly, she trotted to Quill, who was still snoring in spite of the chaos. The horse poked her nose underneath the cart’s box and flipped the hat off the man’s face. Quill chuckled in his sleep and clumsily batted at the horse’s velvety muzzle.

  “Oh, stop it, honey girl!” Quill made kissing noises but kept brushing his dream sweetheart’s hand away from his cheeks and chin.

  The horse grabbed a hank of the man’s hair in its teeth and pulled.

  “Aaaagh! Owey! Booni’ishin!”

  Meanwhile, Makoons and Chickadee jumped off their horses and zigzagged through the family and friends, who were already making feverish preparations for the hunt. Makoons grabbed his uncle’s shirt and yelled excitedly into his uncle’s face. “Uncle! Uncle Quill! Buffalo!” Quill’s eyes opened wide and he rolled out from underneath the oxcart. From inside the cart he pulled a piece of leather, which he threw onto Wings’s back and cinched tight. He grabbed his rifle from a watertight rawhide container tethered under the cart.

  While Quill was pulling himself together, slurping water from a dipper that his mother, old Yellow Kettle, carried around the camp, Makoons ran into the grass. He quickly retrieved Whirlwind, who tossed his head high in glee. Holding his pony’s rope halter, Makoons led it to a stream. As the pony drank, Makoons swung himself back up. He was going to scout the herd with the grown-ups, whether they wanted him or not.

  “Stay here,” said Animikiins sternly to his sons. Then he whirled on his horse and galloped away. Chickadee went to help his mother ready the camp to move behind the hunt.

  Little Shell rode off without speaking.

  Gichi Noodin looked down at Makoons disdainfully. Next to him, Two Strike busied herself.

  “Stay home, little girls,” Gichi Noodin said to them both.

  Little girls? Two Strike heard him and fury lighted in her eye. She vaulted onto her horse.

  “Little girl?” she cried. “I am a bigger woman than you are a man!”

  As she raced past Gichi Noodin, she leaned over and gave him a massive push. With a strangled squawk of surprise, Gichi Noodin vanished over the side of his horse. The horse had hated Gichi Noodin’s fancy spurs and rough ways. Now it pranced away, stopping to snatch mouthfuls of grass. Gichi Noodin rose from the ground and gazed in shock after the bold woman, Two Strike, now out of reach. Turning back to his horse, he tried to catch it. But his horse seemed to think it was fun to let Gichi Noodin get close and then bolt just when the man thought he was in reach.

  “You stay put!” shouted Quill over his shoulder to Makoons, but he was laughing so hard at Gichi Noodin that there wasn’t much conviction in his voice. Makoons decided to follow Quill and Two Strike.

  “Come back!” cried Omakayas, chasing after her son.

  “Stop, brother,” yelled Chickadee.

  It was too late. Makoons was already following the scouting party toward the herd of buffalo. Left behind, Chickadee hopped around in frustration. He wanted to go too. But he couldn’t catch Sweetheart, no matter how fast he ran or how longingly he cried out his horse’s name. Still, he was not alone with this horse-catching problem. After a few fruitless minutes Chickadee quit trying because the sight of Gichi Noodin was so entertaining. The big strapping man with the flowing hair had donned a beautiful shirt. But he made a foolish leap toward his horse, and fell in a patch of mud. His snow-white shirt, which was tight-sleeved to show his manly biceps and thrilling chest, had not only split down the side but its fetching whiteness was spoiled with dirt. Gichi Noodin screamed at his horse and threw clumps of mud.

  Makoons rode in a direct line behind the scouts and stayed just far enough back. They couldn’t s
ee him with one glance over their shoulders. No, they would have to turn all the way around on their saddles, but they didn’t do that. They were so excited about the buffalo that they bolted ahead to the rise from which the boys had told them they’d spotted the herd. When nearly there, Two Strike and the men slowed their horses to a walk. Then they dismounted and sneaked forward. Makoons did too. He came up behind his uncles and father so quietly that they didn’t notice him, or so Makoons thought. The men, with Makoons among them, stooped down, level with the grasses, staring fixedly at the horizon.

  After a time, Quill said quietly, “Those boys have sharp eyes. Too bad Makoons is so foolhardy and disobedient.”

  “Buffalo hunting rules are strict,” growled Two Strike.

  Behind them, Makoons gulped and said nothing.

  “Good thing he didn’t follow us,” said Animikiins.

  “If he followed us, we’d have to whip him for sure,” added Fishtail.

  “If he wants to be a man, he must stand a man’s punishment,” said Little Shell.

  There was silence. Only the wind sighed in the grass. Step by step Makoons backed away, drawing Whirlwind with him until he dared slip onto his pony’s back. Makoons then made a mad dash for home, staked Whirlwind in the grass, and sneaked up beside Chickadee, who had left off trying to catch his pony entirely. Chickadee was surprised by his brother’s stealth.

  “Something brought you back fast!”

  “They spoke of whipping me.”

  “Good thing you disappeared. Look, let’s work together. Pretend you were always here. Come on, let’s get the packs ready, sharpen the skinning knives. Take down the drying racks, huh? Nokomis will like that. She’ll feed us good if we bundle up the drying racks and tie them behind the dogs!”

  Makoons took a bit of bannock from his pocket and lured a big sad-eyed hungry-looking gray dog over. He harnessed up a travois—two long poles, a harness. Then he tied on as large a bundle of sticks as the dog could manage. As soon as the travois was hooked up, the dog looked more cheerful. Camp dogs knew when there was a buffalo hunt. They were eager to help when they knew they would be fed. Chickadee harnessed another dog—big-eared, cheerful, and honey-brown—and they loaded this dog’s travois with firewood. Omakayas saw her twin boys, praised them, and captured another dog with handouts. This dog was honored with the task of dragging her best kettle. Angeline had already attached poles and a carrying sling to her horse. She hoisted Opichi onto Fly and put the halter in her daughter’s chubby hands. Angeline trusted her horse not to move too quickly with a child riding—she had trained Fly with great care. The lovely spotted roan stayed steady even though a palpable excitement roiled the camp, and from time to time she reached down affectionately to nuzzle her curly, hopping, strangely alien but playful little foal.

  Soon the scouts arrived back in the camp.

  Animikiins and Little Shell would be the buffalo chiefs. They had done well in every hunt.

  “Be certain to follow the buffalo chiefs,” the scouts warned. “Obey everything and the hunt will go well. Above all, do not shoot until they give the signal. Do not startle the herd.”

  Gichi Noodin finally caught his horse and mounted up. When he heard the scouts, he glowered with jealousy and smoothed his second-best shirt across his manly chest. He tied his hair back with a bright cloth and polished his hunting gun. The other hunters looked like a ragtag bunch beside him, but they were determined to provide for their families. The buffalo they shot would be used entirely—from hoof to horn. They gathered, holding their rifles in one hand, pouches of shot and gunpowder in the other. About a third of the men, including Fishtail and Animikiins, carried bows and quivers of arrows. Theirs were made by Deydey, and were superior weapons. Hunting rifles or old muskets could misfire. Some of the hunters had special repeating rifles though, recently invented. Little Shell had such a rifle, which had been given to him during the treaty negotiations. It was admired by many people. Uncle Quill, who traded furs in the cities of St. Paul and Minneapolis, had a brand-new rifle as well. It did not need to be reloaded while riding on a horse. All of the hunters kept a few ready in their mouths. Those with the older rifles kept their gunpowder in hollow horns capped with rawhide. Many had ramrods on rawhide thongs around their necks, as well. They were ready for action. They had shed jackets, hats, packrolls, anything extra that might get in the way of hunting.

  Before the hunting party started after the buffalo, Little Shell filled his pipe and passed it around the circle. Little Shell and Animikiins prayed on behalf of the generous buffalo and the generous spirit that moves and lives in all things, Gizhe Manidoo.

  Nokomis stayed home, at the little cabin. Deydey would stay behind too, though Yellow Knife would go on. He would keep the cabin safe and help Nokomis work in the garden. Nokomis had planted her seeds and was watching them sprout. Not even a buffalo hunt could draw her from her garden—this time of watching was crucial. Deydey joked that she would probably sleep outside next to her baby plants.

  “I would!” cried Nokomis. “If the zaagimeg would let me! They bite too hard!”

  She had begun a fence of sticks, and was working it together to keep out any stray creature that might covet what was, to her, a magic replacement of her old happy world. For the rest of the family, of course, the garden was also going to be a crucial source of food. They had all helped plant the corn, especially, with expectant hope. Omakayas remembered guarding cornfields in their old, lost home. Yellow Kettle recalled making marvelous corn soups. And the potatoes, thought Angeline, would go very well with the bison her husband, Fishtail, would bring down in the hunt!

  The hunters rode off in high spirits with the rest of the camp, except for Deydey and Nokomis, traveling behind. Although excited, Quill had also stayed behind long enough to harness his ox to his oxcart. The slow-moving train of dogs, children, pack-laden horses—everybody but the hunters themselves—would get to the scene of the buffalo hunt just in time to do the skinning, meat drying, the work of making a long-lasting food called pemmican, and even some smoking and tanning of hides if they camped long enough. Makoons and Chickadee had visions of sneaking away, in spite of the consequences, and joining the hunt. Even though they knew the punishment for ruining a buffalo hunt could be severe, they were sure they’d help and even become heroes.

  “After all, we’re the ones who discovered the herd!” said Makoons.

  “Geget, you are right,” said Chickadee. He knew how deeply his brother longed to use his training in a mighty hunting charge.

  “We can still sneak after them,” said Makoons.

  “I’ve got something better for you to do,” said Quill, who’d overheard them. “Why don’t you drive my oxcart?”

  Makoons and Chickadee jumped in excitement. Uncle Quill had never allowed them to take the cart before. Driving an oxcart was almost as good as being in the hunt! They let Zozie use their horses as pack animals. Then they set about imitating Quill, calling his sleepy ox and urging it to follow the rest of the moving camp.

  The camp moved inexorably ahead. Finally the last horse and dog were passing from view. Chickadee and Makoons, on the oxcart, were standing still in the dust the camp left behind them, wondering how their uncle managed to get his ox moving.

  “Haii!” yelled Chickadee.

  “Howah!” yelled Makoons.

  “Here we go!”

  But nothing happened.

  Chickadee had the reins first—they were taking turns. He slapped the ox’s back. That seemed to put it to sleep.

  “Just wait,” said Makoons. “He won’t want to be left behind. Watch and see!”

  Makoons was right. The drowsy ox opened his eyes and looked around. Nobody there. He could see the other oxen and horses moving ahead. Anxiously, he jolted into a walk. The ox just needed to follow the crowd and didn’t like to feel alone.

  They did have some other consolation, too. On the next hunt after this one, Animikiins had promised, they could bring their horses and ride
along. They would not use weapons; they would not hunt. This was the next part of training. Their ponies would follow the other horses, and do as they did with no fear. They were animals of the herd, and copied their brothers and sisters.

  “Next hunt,” said Makoons to Whirlwind, “you’ll be with the big horses!”

  “Next hunt!” said Chickadee.

  Meanwhile, the band of hunters raced quickly to the rise where the buffalo had been spotted, then stopped. Across a wide expanse of grassland, the herd still peacefully grazed. The hunters breathed sighs of relief, smiled in satisfaction. The buffalo could have started a run while they were gone or disappeared in any number of ways. Buffalo were a strange and unpredictable creature. Sometimes they didn’t care who approached them and would stand still and watch a man walk right up to them. At other times the merest whiff of human scent would send them stampeding.

  Today the humans were in luck. The wind was blowing toward the hunters, which meant it would not bring their scent to any skittish buffalo. Slowly, the hunters walked their horses down the rise. Carefully, the hunters walked their horses in the direction of the buffalo. It would just take one quick movement, sometimes, to startle the herd, and they wanted to make sure that they didn’t make the buffalo start running from a great distance. They could lose the buffalo entirely into, say, Dakota country, to other hunters, or the animals might just spread out and dwindle away. Sometimes a herd mysteriously seemed to evaporate into the landscape. Most times, the hunters would just have a lot more work chasing the buffalo down and hunting them once they were spooked.

  So the beginning of a buffalo hunt always started with a slow and cautious, even gentle sort of herding. As they moved toward the buffalo, seemingly without purpose, the buffalo continued to graze. Some of the great beasts had created wallows and stood in line to use them. The first buffalo, hot and harassed by flies, would gouge a hole in a moist spot and paw up the earth until it was muddy and cool. Then the buffalo would lie down and move in a circle, rolling on its back to get the full enjoyment of the mud, cooling off. When it finally rose, another buffalo would take its place. Here and there, they lined up one after the other to enjoy a particularly good wallow. By the next season, their wallow, with the mud stirred up and plenty of fertilizer from the buffalo, would stay strikingly green and round. These circles dotted the vast plains.